


The Drawing of the Light

by Sita_Z



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Christmas, Friendship, Gen, Kid Fic, M/M, Magical Accidents, Medical Trauma, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-22 18:54:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/613106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sita_Z/pseuds/Sita_Z
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Violence couldn’t conquer magic, but technology could. In a modern world in which sorcerers are controlled and enslaved, ten-year-old Merlin Emrys befriends his owner’s son, Arthur. When Merlin’s unusual powers are discovered, things begin to change for both boys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short(ish) story set in a universe in which I might or might not write more. The setting is modern, but with rather archaic structures as far as masters and servants are concerned. Merlin is ten at the beginning, Arthur is twelve.
> 
> Enjoy!

“How do I look, Gaius?”

 

Gaius straightens the collar of Merlin’s sweater, brushing away an invisible piece of lint. “Very handsome, my boy.”

 

Merlin smiles. The blue sweater is a little loose around the shoulders, and its right cuff has been mended with yarn just a shade too dark, but it is still the best sweater Merlin has ever owned. Gaius took it specially from Arthur’s Wardrobe of Uncool Clothes. That wardrobe has existed ever since Arthur turned twelve last spring, and it is full of clothes that are too babyish, too girly or too shabby for Arthur to wear (but which, for some reason, must still be kept in his room).

 

Merlin’s new hand-me-down sweater falls in the shabby category, with its mended cuff. There’s also nothing written on it, and Merlin knows that clothes without writing are uncool  by default. All the Muggle kids wear clothes with printed brand names, the larger the better.

 

“And no using that word, Merlin,” Gaius says, reading Merlin’s mind in that uncanny way of his. “I told you.”

 

“Gilli uses it,” Merlin says.

 

“Well, Gilli gets punished every other week, doesn’t he? I’m not sure he’s the one to set an example.”

 

This is true. Gilli, who is fourteen and “doesn’t give a shit”, got caught reading _Harry Potter and the Halfblood Prince_ in broad daylight. Merlin, who is ten and quite scared of getting disciplined, has only ever seen the battered copy of _The Philosopher’s Stone_ that Gilli showed him behind the garden shed. It was a bit disappointing, actually. What with all the fuss and the official ban, he expected it to be blood-red, with pictures of slaughtered Muggles and marching wizards on the cover. But ‘Harry Potter’ (on the cover, at least) was just a shy-looking boy with a dorky haircut who seemed about to be run over by a huge red engine. Not very spectacular for a subversive and dangerous book.

 

“Now,” Gaius says. “Let’s go over the protocol one more time.”

 

Merlin groans. “Not _again_ , Gaius.”

 

“Merlin,” Gaius’ face is very serious. “I’m just trying to make sure that you don’t get into trouble tonight. It’s your first official function, and you know how important protocol is.”

 

Protocol, Merlin knows, means remembering what he can do and say, and more importantly, what he can’t do and can’t say. It isn’t always easy. There are so many things that are forbidden to them.

 

“Sorry.” He knows Gaius is only looking out for him.

 

“It’s fine, my boy. Now, the Master and his guests will be having dinner in the Bordeaux Room. You...”

 

“...will attend Arthur and the others,” Merlin says dutifully.

 

“Merlin,” Gaius sighs. For a moment, Merlin is confused – he _is_ supposed to serve Arthur, Morgana and the younger guests at tonight’s official dinner. Gaius told him so himself. Then he remembers.

 

“Oh – it’s _Master_ Arthur tonight.”

 

“Yes, Merlin,” Gaius says in his patience-is-a-virtue voice. “Please make sure that you don’t forget. How do you serve the soup and the main courses?”

 

“From the right,” Merlin says, wondering again why anyone would _care_.

 

“And dessert?”

 

“From the left.”

 

“And what about drinks?”

 

“From the right. Water glasses are to be kept filled at all times; for everything else, wait until they ask for more,” Merlin recites.

 

Gaius nods approvingly. “And what did I say about talking?”

 

“I should only speak when I’m spoken to, and be polite and respectful, even if Arthur is being a prat.”

 

“I certainly didn’t say that. Merlin, do make sure that you’re on your best behavior tonight. It’s the first time Uther’s presenting you at a function, and he’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

 

For a moment, Merlin has an image of himself in a display case, being ‘presented’ like those old swords and maces in the entrance hall. But then, they’re like a million years old and worth a lot more than Merlin.

 

“I will,” he promises, and Gaius looks slightly less worried.

 

“Good. Now, after dinner everyone will retreat to the drawing room-”

 

“With the big Christmas tree?” Merlin interrupts, excited. Usually, only senior servants like Gaius are allowed in the drawing room. All Merlin got was a glimpse when he helped Gaius carry the table decorations for tonight’s function, but what he saw must have been the largest and most magnificent Christmas tree ever.

 

“Yes,” Gaius says patiently. “You’ll see it tonight. But Merlin, make sure you don’t get distracted, all right?”

 

Merlin huffs a little. He doesn’t get _distracted_. It’s just that boring things don’t hold his attention for too long - things like cleaning windows or picking up Arthur’s room. Only because Gaius caught him staring at the clouds and thinking up a story about riding a dragon, or trying out Arthur’s Xbox doesn’t mean that he is easily distracted.

 

“ _Merlin_ ,” Gaius says, and Merlin remembers that they’re supposed to go over the protocol.

 

“Um, what were you saying, Gaius?”

 

Gaius sighs, as if he’s just proven a point. “After dinner, everyone will go to the drawing room. There will be some musical performances by the younger guests-”

 

“Does Arthur have to play his violin?” Merlin asks, biting the inside of his mouth to suppress a giggle.

 

Gaius clears his throat meaningfully.

 

“I mean, _Master_ Arthur.”

 

“No,” Gaius says, and for a moment his lips twitch, as if he, too, is biting back a laugh. “His instructor suggested that the young master should practice some more before performing in public.”

 

Merlin grins. “A lot more. It still sounds like he’s killing a howler monkey.” Gilli said that, and Merlin thought it was the funniest thing he’d heard in _years_.

 

“ _Merlin_. What did I say about showing respect?” Gaius sighs, and Merlin knows that it’s one of those ‘rhetorical questions’ that don’t need an answer. “After the musical performances, we will serve mulled fruits and custard-”

 

“Can I have some, too?”

 

“ _No_ ,” Gaius says. “And don’t let me catch you sneaking some, young man!” At Merlin’s disappointed face, he softens, as he always does. “I’ll save you some of the custard for later, all right?”

 

Merlin beams. “All right.”

 

“We’re going to clear away the dishes, and then it’s your turn.” Gaius’ face turns very serious. “Now, tell me step-by-step how it’s going to go.”

 

“The Master’s going to make an announcement, and I’m going to go stand in front of the fireplace-”

 

“ _Before_ that.”

 

“Oh!” Merlin blushes; Gaius told him at least a thousand times. “I’m going to take off my serving apron and give it to you.”

 

“Please don’t forget, Merlin. You don’t want to embarrass Uther in front of his guests.”

 

Merlin shakes his head; no, he doesn’t want to do that. Gaius picked out the new sweater specially so he’ll look respectable in front of all the gentlemen and ladies. “I won’t forget, Gaius.”

 

“Good. Now, after you’ve taken off your apron...”

 

“I’m going to go stand in front of the fireplace and wait for the Master to – to lower the controls.” Merlin swallows at the thought. His controls have only been lowered a few times – when he went to the clinic to be tested, and twice so he could practice for tonight. The feeling is like nothing else he has ever experienced; like a cold sip of water on a hot summer’s day, more intense even than the heady rush he felt when he secretly tried a sip of sweet wine in the kitchens. He feels terribly nervous at the idea of all those people watching him, and yet it’s all worth it to have his magic freed one more time.

 

Gaius nods. “And then?”

 

Merlin grins happily. “I’m gonna rock their socks off!”

 

 _Thwap_. Gaius’ hand collides with the back of his head – not painfully, but hard enough to wipe the grin off Merlin’s face. “ _Merlin_! Do not let anyone hear you talk that way, you understand?”

 

“I didn’t mean-”

 

“I know what you meant. But if you say anything like that in front of a Natural, all they’re going to hear is a powerful Sorcerer child threatening them.”

 

Merlin rubs the back of his head. “I wasn’t threatening anyone,” he says, trying to hide the wobble in his voice. “I – I wasn’t, Gaius.”

 

“I know, my boy,” Gaius says with yet another sigh. “But you have to understand, things are different now. You’ll be watched, and you can’t afford to slip up.”

 

Merlin nods. He knows things are different, ever since he came back from the testing clinic a year ago. The Master never so much as looked at him before, and now he wants Merlin to perform at his official Christmas function. Merlin got new shoes, a new haircut, and Gaius was given permission to pick any of Arthur’s old clothes for Merlin to wear. Uther even came to watch Merlin practice, looking at him as if Merlin was a particularly shiny vintage Porsche (the kind of which Uther has five in his garage, and only allows the senior caretaker to touch).

 

“If Bayard sells after this, and I don’t see how he _couldn’t_ ,” Uther said, “I’ll have Gaius take you to London and buy you whatever you want. What do you say to that, lad?”

 

Merlin bowed and said ‘thank you, sir’, as was expected of him. Later, Gaius explained the whole Bayard thing to him. “He’s the head of a rival company Uther has been trying to buy out for years. If Bayard sees that Uther owns a Sorcerer as powerful as you, he might reconsider.”

 

Merlin doesn’t quite understand why this Bayard person would sell his company because of Merlin’s Christmas performance, but Gaius is usually right about these things. Uther even asks him for his advice about business matters.

 

Merlin hasn’t forgotten what Uther said about London, though.

 

“Gaius?”

 

“What is it, Merlin?”

 

Merlin bites his lip, plucking at a loose thread on his mended sleeve. “D’you – d’you think he’d let me get a dog?”

 

Merlin has wanted a dog for ever and ever. A big, shaggy one he can take everywhere and cuddle up to at night, when he remembers the clinic and is scared of falling asleep because of the nightmares.

 

Gaius doesn’t look too enthusiastic. “You _and_ a puppy, I don’t know how I’m going to cope. Stop picking at your sweater, Merlin, or the cuff is going to fray.”

 

Merlin beams. “You think he’d let me?”

 

“I suppose if Bayard sells, the Master will get you one hundred and one Dalmatians if you want them.”

 

“Huh?” Merlin shakes his head. “No, I just want one. A big one.”

 

“Then that’s what you should think of tonight,” Gaius says. “Think of your dog, and _don’t_ slip up.”

 

Merlin nods. It’s a good idea, as Gaius’ ideas usually are. If he thinks of his dog, he won’t get distracted. “I will. I’ll do a good job, you’ll see.”

 

And suddenly Gaius pulls him into a hug, the way he only rarely does. “I know. It’s just that I worry about you, my boy.”

 

Merlin leans against him, thinking of his mum and how she used to hug him. Sometimes remembering her makes him sad, but not today.

 

“It’ll be fine,” Gaius says, and Merlin nods.

 

It’s Christmas, after all.

 

###

 

It all began with Merlin and Arthur’s Epic Monopoly Fight. It wasn’t their first disagreement, nor their first squabble about Monopoly, but it was certainly their first Monopoly fight of such epic proportions.

 

Arthur was in a bad mood and even more of a prat than usual. He declared himself Head of the Bank, and took £ 50 whenever it was his turn – his salary, he said. When Merlin declared himself Financial Advisor and asked for a salary of his own, the Head of the Bank refused because of “tax deductions”. Merlin _knew_ that Arthur was making those up. But Gaius had admonished him again and again that he wasn’t supposed to get cross with the young master, and so Merlin gritted his teeth and didn’t start a fight.

 

Until Arthur decided to steal Park Lane,that was. Merlin had already bought Mayfair, and won Park Lane fair and square, when Arthur announced that he was going to take both streets for his own.

 

“Why?” Merlin sat open-mouthed, watching in disbelief as Arthur tucked the two cards under his side of the board. “I bought those! I gave you the money!”

 

“Yeah,” Arthur said. “But legally they’re mine.”

 

“What? No they’re not!”

 

“Are, too,” Arthur said, with a shrug as if Merlin was being stupid. “Everything that belongs to you is legally mine.”

 

“What, just because you’re Head of the Bank?”

 

“No,” Arthur said. “Because I’m a Natural and you’re a Sorcerer. You belong to my family, and everything you own belongs to us.”

 

It was only the thought of Gaius’ disapproving face that kept Merlin on his chair. “That – you – that doesn’t mean you can _cheat_ , you prat!”

 

“It’s not cheating,” Arthur said in his most annoying know-it-all voice. “It’s the law.”

 

“It’s not the law for Monopoly!” Merlin yelled.

 

“Is too!”

 

“Is not!”

 

“Is too!”

 

At that point, Merlin forgot all about Gaius, lunged across the table and grabbed the two cards. “IS NOT!”

 

Arthur jumped up, scattering Monopoly money all across the table. “GIVE THOSE BACK!”

 

“No!” Merlin knew an attack was coming, and dodged it, the two cards pressed firmly to his chest. “They’re mine, I bought them!”

 

“You didn’t! Freaks can’t buy things!”

 

Merlin wasn’t sure what had happened next, only that it involved punching, kicking, a bitten hand (Arthur’s), a bloody lip (Merlin’s), and two ripped Monopoly cards. Eventually, Gaius pulled them apart.

 

“Merlin, what did you do?”

 

“He cheated,” Merlin said, refusing to give in to the tears that were crowding in his throat. He was so _angry_. “He took Park Lane, and I bought it! It was mine!”

 

But then he noticed that neither Arthur nor Gaius didn’t seem to care much about Park Lane, or even the blood that was dripping from Arthur’s hand and Merlin’s lip. They were both staring at the ceiling.

 

“Merlin,” Gaius breathed.

 

Merlin looked up. The entire Monopoly game – the board, the bank, the money and the houses – was stuck to the ceiling as if someone had climbed a ladder and glued it there. But of course that was not what had happened.

 

Somehow, inconceivably, Merlin’s magic had gotten free.


	2. Chapter 2

The days that followed the Epic Monopoly Fight were a blur of hushed conversations, trips to Uther’s study, Gaius’ worried face, and finally, being bundled off in a car and driven to the clinic. Merlin was horribly scared. His magic had gotten past the controls – which it was not supposed to do, it was _impossible_ – and Gaius had never looked so pale before.

 

At the clinic, they did tests, hundreds of them. They strapped Merlin onto a table and pushed him into a huge tube called a CT scanner, where he had to lie still and got yelled at when he tried to talk. They gave him shots that made him feel sick or sleepy, and kept him in a bed with electrodes glued to the back of his neck, where his controls were. One of the nurses, a man called Lance, was nice to him - he brought him chocolate cake and joked about Merlin looking like a space robot with his hair shaved off and all those electrodes and instruments stuck on him. He didn’t yell when Merlin vomited after the shots, and even let him sit in his lap, stroked his back and didn’t once call him a crybaby.

 

Merlin wouldn’t have blamed him; he cried a lot in those days. The worst was when they cut open his head to see what was inside. Merlin had to stay awake during the surgery, while the doctors poked around in his brain and tried to ‘get a reaction’. It didn’t hurt, but it was awful, like something out of Arthur’s horror movies. Merlin only got through it because Lance held his hand and talked to him, telling him all about his girlfriend Gwen and their Newfoundland puppy Percival.

 

The doctors didn’t get a reaction by stimulating his ‘ESP center’, and so they started a new series of tests, lowering his controls and ‘directing his magic’. Merlin had to levitate things, set newspapers on fire, make water boil or freeze, conjure objects from thin air and duplicate other objects they put in front of him. It went on for days, and they yelled at him whenever the magic didn’t do what they wanted. One of the doctors even slapped him when he cried. Frightened and exhausted beyond endurance, Merlin threw the man across the room. He thought they were going to kill him for attacking a Natural with magic, but instead they started a whole new line of tests, trying to provoke ‘defensive reactions’ from him. Those had been horrible. During the few hours they left him alone, he sobbed into Lance’s shoulder or slept, dreaming of more tests and instruments poking around in his brain.

 

Finally, _finally_ , when Merlin had lost seven kilos and was stubbly all over where his hair was growing back, they told him that he would be going home. Merlin remembered Lance holding his arm in the Senior Consultant’s office, supporting him when Merlin’s knees threatened to buckle. Uther was there, talking to the doctors, but Merlin caught only a few words: “... incredible potential...”, “...reinforced controls...”, “...twice as much once he’s trained.”

 

Later, when he was back in Camelot Mansion and lying in his bed, Gaius explained it to him. “They were testing the extent of your powers,” he said. “It seems there isn’t much your magic can’t do. Uther will want to train you when you’re older.”

 

“Will I have to go back to the clinic?” Merlin asked, petrified that Gaius would say yes.

 

“I don’t think so,” Gaius said, stroking Merlin’s stubbly hair. “They can only test your powers, not show you how to use them. I’m sure Uther will find you a teacher or instructor.”

 

Merlin closed his eyes. “Gaius.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“They cut my head open.”

 

Gaius said nothing and just let him cry, stroking his hair until he fell asleep.

 

It was a surprise to find Arthur sitting at his bedside when he woke. Merlin had only seen Arthur in the servants’ quarters once or twice; it wasn’t appropriate, after all.

 

“Hey, Merls,” Arthur said. His eyes and nose were kind of red, Merlin noticed, like he had a cold or something.

 

“Hey, Arthur. Are you sick?”

 

“Naw,” Arthur said, dragging a sleeve across his face. “You were sleeping like, forever.”

 

Merlin looked at Gaius’ old alarm clock, and saw that it was almost noon. He usually never got to lie in past seven.

 

“Your hair’s all weird,” Arthur said. “And you’ve got a scar...”

 

Merlin nodded. “They cut me open.”

 

Arthur’s eyes widened. “Your head? You mean, with a saw and all?”

 

Merlin suddenly felt a little bit better. “Yeah, kind of like a drill. It made a really awful noise, bwww...” He mimed drilling into an invisible skull. Arthur looked satisfyingly nauseated.

 

“That’s horrible.”

 

Merlin nodded. “Yeah, it kind of was.”

 

“Look...” Arthur plucked at Merlin’s blanket, not looking at him. “I – I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“That day, with the Monopoly game... I didn’t know that could happen. I never wanted them to take you away.”

 

“S’okay,” Merlin said. “It wasn’t your fault.” Arthur had stolen Park Lane and started the fight, but Merlin knew that what had followed – the clinic, the tests – hadn’t been Arthur’s doing. Arthur was a prat, but he wasn’t mean like that.

 

“I made you something,” Arthur said, and plunked a badly wrapped package on the bed. “It was a Christmas present, actually.”

 

For a moment, Merlin remembered how he’d spent Christmas day – in a bathtub full of freezing water, the doctors watching to see how his magic would protect him from the cold. Not that well, it turned out. At some point, Lance had carried him back to his mattress in the corner, had piled blankets on him and given him a dog-shaped biscuit with blue icing. “Gwen and I made them specially,” he’d said. “I’d wish you a happy Christmas, kid, but it would be kind of stupid, wouldn’t it?” And he had looked so sad that Merlin had dragged up a smile for him and eaten the biscuit, although he didn’t feel hungry at all.

 

Arthur was watching him expectantly, and Merlin shook off the memory. He didn’t want to think about it.

 

“What is it?” he asked, reaching for the present.

 

“I’m not telling you, you idiot. That’s why it’s wrapped.”

 

“Huh.” Merlin began to pull off the many strips of tape Arthur had stuck all over the paper.

 

“Just rip it, Merlin,” Arthur said, bossy as usual. “Haven’t you ever opened a present before?”

 

Not that many, would have been an honest answer, but Merlin just shrugged and did as he was told. The paper came off easily enough, revealing...

 

“What is it?” Merlin asked, holding the Thing in both hands. It didn’t look like anything he’d ever seen before.

 

“A piggy bank,” Arthur said proudly. “I made it with my Arts and Crafts tutor.”

 

The piggy bank didn’t look like a pig – more like a lopsided shoe box with a slit on top.

 

“It’s so you can save your money,” Arthur said, his cheeks a bit red. “You know, and buy stuff.”

 

Merlin remembered their Monopoly fight and the things Arthur had said, and grinned. “Cool. Thanks.”

 

On that day, they’d somehow become friends without realizing it – not just a lonely young heir and a little Sorcerer slave who played together because there were few other kids around, but actual friends.

 

Merlin kept the piggy bank and even put coins in it sometimes, although getting them back out was almost impossible (unless you had a lot of patience and were quite handy with a knitting needle). He had a vague idea that he might someday use the money to buy things for a puppy, but he never told anyone about that.

 

Except for Arthur, of course. Arthur could be really annoying if he thought you were keeping a secret from him.

 

###

 

_One year later_

 

It’s only a small dinner party, Gaius says, that’s why they’re having it in the Bordeaux Room and not in the big dining hall. Merlin doesn’t think it’s that small, but then, he’s never been to one of the official soirées or banquets. Little serving boys are not allowed at those, and if Arthur’s griping and moaning is anything to go by, he isn’t missing much. They seem to be mostly about listening to boring speeches and ‘minding one’s manners’, and Merlin isn’t too good at either.

 

The table in the Bordeaux Room seats thirty people, plus an extra table that has been set for the young guests. There are six of them – Arthur, Morgana, Elena and Vivian who are about Morgana’s age, five-year-old Gwaine (“Keep an eye on that one,” Gaius told Merlin quietly), and Valiant, who is fourteen and looks sulky at being placed at the children’s table.

 

So far, things have gone well, by and large. Merlin served Morgana’s soup from the left instead of the right, but she was too busy talking to Vivian to notice (and probably wouldn’t have cared if she did). Arthur is looking bored. Elena, who doesn’t seem to like curried cauliflower, tried to hide hers in the centerpiece decoration. This resulted in some rather large stains on the table cloth, but she’s covered them up with her napkin and Merlin pretends he hasn’t seen. It wouldn’t be good manners to point it out, anyway.

 

Merlin is almost done serving the third course – braised rabbit with Spanish rice – when Gwaine spills his soda all over the the table. Vivian squeaks and pushes her chair back, although she was never in any danger of getting drenched. Gwaine looks at Merlin, his happy grin gone and replaced with a woeful expression.

 

“Sorry ‘bout the mess,” he says. “I’ll help clean it up, yeah?”

 

Valiant snorts unkindly. “You don’t have to clean anything. That’s the freak’s job.”

 

“What’s a freak?” Gwaine asks.

 

“It’s a word only asshats like him use,” Arthur says, glaring at Valiant.

 

“What’s an asshat?” Gwaine asks, looking interested.

 

“There’s one sitting right next to you,” Arthur replies, as if Gwaine had asked about the pretty pictures on the wall. “See? The big bloke with the face like a dropped pie.”

 

“Why don’t you shut your fucking mouth, Pendragon,” Valiant snaps.

 

Morgana laughs her evil laugh, and Merlin knows what’s coming; no one but herself is allowed to torment Morgana’s little brother. “Ooh, what a witty comeback, _Val_. How long did it take you to come up with that one?”

 

Valiant blushes an angry crimson. “You keep out of this, Morgana.”

 

Morgana smirks and tosses her hair back. “Or what, pie boy?”

 

Valiant takes a deep breath, but luckily Gwaine pipes up before he can say anything. “My shirt’s all wet,” he says mournfully, pulling it away from his body. “All sticky.”

 

“Come on,” Merlin says, glad to get away from the table. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

 

Gwaine prattles on the entire time they spend in the bathroom to wash the soda stains out of his shirt. Merlin doesn’t mind. It’s much easier listening to Gwaine’s talk about Christmas presents than thinking about Valiant, and the way Arthur stood up for him.

 

“I’m gonna get lots and lots of presents.” Gwaine says, rubbing both hands through his hair and admiring his disheveled self in the mirror. “Are you gonna get many presents?”

 

Merlin shrugs. “Maybe... a dog.”

 

“Cool! Mum says I can’t have a pet until I’m seven,” Gwaine informs him. “Does your Mum like dogs?”

 

Merlin feels something clench in his stomach. “I guess so,” he says, trying to smile for Gwaine, who is sort of like a puppy himself – bouncing, happy and always in trouble. “C’mon, I’ve got to serve the next course.”

 

“Why?” Gwaine asks his favorite question.

 

“Because there’s another course, and then there’s dessert.”

 

This last bit of information distracts Gwaine enough to make him forget about dogs and mums, allowing Merlin to bundle him back into the dining room and onto his chair. Someone has spread a napkin over the soda stain, and both Arthur and Valiant sit there with their arms crossed, looking grumpy. Morgana is smirking at no one in particular.

 

The rest of the dinner passes without incident (except for Arthur and Valiant glaring at each other). Gwaine charms Morgana and Elena until they share their dessert (cocoa truffle tarte) with him, and adds a few chocolate stains to the soda one, but no one cares about that. When Uther asks everyone to retreat to the drawing room, Gwaine is the first to jump off his chair.

 

“Race ya!” he shouts at the rest. Elena laughs and runs after him, nearly stumbling over the hem of her dress.

 

“Really,” Vivian says. “Could she be like, any more immature?”

 

Behind her back, Merlin catches Morgana rolling her eyes.

 

He begins to clear away the dessert plates, loading them onto the trolley. Gaius, who is busy doing the same at the big table, catches his eyes and nods. _Good job_ , his expression says, and Merlin smiles. These dinner functions aren’t that bad, really. And with Gwaine and Elena around, any spillage that might occur is not going to be blamed on him.

 

“Aren’t you coming?”

 

Arthur is leaning against the table, looking uncomfortable (although that might be because of the white shirt and tie he’s been forced to wear). Everyone else but the servants has already gone to the drawing room.

 

“I’ve got to take these to kitchen,” Merlin says, nodding at the trolley.

 

“Can I come?”

 

Merlin blinks. “You want to come with me to the kitchen?”

 

Arthur nods.

 

“Aren’t you supposed to be in the drawing room?”

 

Arthur grimaces. “I don’t really want to listen to Vivian sing, or Valiant murder Christmas carols on the piano.”

 

Which, Merlin thinks, is a bit rich, coming from the Howler Monkey Violinist, but he doesn’t say so. It _was_ really decent of Arthur to tell Valiant to shut up.

 

“Yeah, okay,” he says, grabbing the trolley. “I’ve got to go back after I’ve taken care of these, though.”

 

Arthur falls into step next to him. “Valiant’s a wanker.”

 

“Yeah,” Merlin says. He knows he’s not supposed to say things like that, or even _agree_ when things like that are said about Uther’s guests, but this is _Arthur_. “I thought he was a creep.”

 

They grin at each other, and Merlin’s somber mood evaporates, just like that. Vivian hasn’t eaten most of her truffle tarte, and Merlin sticks a finger into the leftovers, scooping up a large gooey bit. It tastes delicious.

 

A year ago, Arthur would have told him not to be disgusting like that, but he doesn’t now. After spending so much time with Merlin, Arthur knows that the servants don’t get to eat until the official party is over, or whenever they can grab something in between.

 

They take the servants’ lift downstairs, the door opening to reveal the hustle and bustle of the kitchen. Someone grabs the trolley from Merlin’s hands (“About time, too – oh, sorry, didn’t see you there, Master Arthur!”), while someone else shoves a tray loaded with biscuits and sweets into his arms. “Take those to the drawing room and make sure they don’t run out – hurry, now!”

 

The door closes again, taking with it the noise, steam and smells. Arthur blinks. “Is it always like that down there?”

 

“Must’ve been worse before dinner,” Merlin says. “They’re just cleaning up now – hey! They’ll think I took that!”

 

“It’s for the dinner party anyway,” Arthur says around the fudge in his mouth. “No one’s going to notice.”

 

“Gaius is,” Merlin says as the lift door opens. “He’ll be looking for you, by the way.”

 

“Indeed,” a voice says behind them. Gaius seems to have materialized out of thin air in that unnerving way of his, and he does _not_ look happy. “Master Arthur, your father’s been asking for you. What are you doing out here?”

 

“Helping Merlin take the dinner stuff to the kitchen. It was too heavy for him to carry on his own,” Arthur says sanctimoniously.

 

“You prat, you didn’t-”

 

A look from Gaius cuts Merlin off. “Merlin, you’d do better not to finish that sentence and get yourself to the drawing room this instant. They’re nearly done with the musical performances. Master Arthur-” Only Gaius could make the honorific sound like a threat. “I _strongly_ suggest that you stop hiding in the hallway and proceed to the drawing room, where your father expected you ten minutes ago.”

 

His eyebrow has been climbing steadily higher, making him look rather dangerous. Arthur mumbles something indistinct and sets off for the drawing room rather quickly, Merlin in his wake. Gaius’ Eyebrow of Doom seems to follow them like an armed guard.

 

“It’s almost time for your magic show, isn’t it?” Arthur whispers as they slip into the room.

 

Merlin sets down his tray on a nearby table. His performance was supposed to be a secret, but he knew Arthur would sulk for weeks if he didn’t tell him. Besides, he wanted someone to share the news with.

 

“Almost,” he whispers back, and suddenly his stomach is a nothing but a ball of nervous energy. There are so many people, all of them in their posh evening gowns and dinner jackets, and they’re all going to be staring at him. What if he stumbles on his way to the fireplace?

 

“Arthur.” Uther is standing by one of the tables, gesturing for his son to come over. He doesn’t look too pleased. “Where have you been? Come on, I’ve been meaning to introduce you to Lady Helen.”

 

With a long-suffering glance at Merlin, Arthur begins to walk over to his father and a beautiful lady in a yellow gown. As Merlin sets out to refill the plates with biscuits and chocolates, he catches a fragment of whispered words: “...not appropriate for you to tag after that serving boy when our guests are waiting...”

 

The Christmas tree is beautiful. Merlin stares at it, and for a moment forgets all about Uther, the guests and his imminent performance as a surprise act. There’s another tree in the entrance hall, and small one in the servants’ common room, but neither of them can compare. This one’s at least four meters tall, and the angel on top almost touches the ceiling. There are so many lights on it, you can’t look at it without squinting. Garlands are wrapped round and round, and Merlin just itches to see if those baubles on the lower branches are really made of chocolate.

 

“Don’t even think about it,” Gaius says in an undertone, appearing next to him. “Fill those plates over there and do _not_ let me catch you touching that tree.”

 

Gaius seems to be on edge, and Merlin knows that it’s better not to point out that he wasn’t doing anything. Arthur has been pulled onto a chair next to his father, where he sits with his arms crossed, looking sulky. His tie is askew, and he’s wiggling his left foot, the way he does when he’s annoyed.

 

At the piano, Valiant just finished a rather martial rendition of “Joy to the World”, and everyone applauds dutifully.

 

More servants enter the room with trays, and Gaius directs Merlin to serve bowls of mulled fruit and custard to the tables in his vicinity. The dessert smells wonderful, and Merlin’s stomach clenches again, this time with hunger. He hasn’t had anything to eat since the hastily put-together sandwich Gaius pushed at him for lunch. Many of the guests hardly touch their servings, which is no surprise - they just finished a five-course dinner, the greedy pigs. Gaius glances at him, and Merlin wonders for the umpteenth time if Gaius has some kind of psychic mind-reading power that alerts him whenever Merlin thinks something inappropriate or disrespectful.

 

Then, Uther gets to his feet, and Merlin realizes with a jolt that it’s _time_. Time for him to walk out in front of all those people, some of whom are just like Valiant.

 

“Thank you all for joining my family and me here today. It is an honor.” Uther pauses, and everyone applauds. “We’ve had some wonderful entertainment by our talented young guests-” -more applause- “-and I’d like to add to that by presenting to you a performance that was especially prepared for tonight.”

 

‘Presenting’, Merlin thinks. So he is sort of like an heirloom in a display case – only one that can move, talk and perform magic tricks.

 

“Gaius, if you would send up the boy.”

 

Merlin is about to head for the fireplace when he feels a hand close on his shoulder.

 

“Your apron,” Gaius hisses.

 

“Oh.” Merlin blushes fiercely and quickly unties the serving apron, handing it to Gaius. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_. Gaius only reminded him a hundred times to take it off.

 

It’s very hot in front of the fireplace. Merlin tugs at the hem of his sweater, feeling his face burn. They’re _staring_ at him, all those ladies and gentlemen who have never touched a dust rag or dirty dish in their lives. Some of them are smiling, but most look politely surprised, or exchange glances with one another. Servants – Sorcerers – aren’t acknowledged or spoken to; it isn’t done, and certainly not skinny little serving boys like Merlin.

 

“This boy,” Uther says, “came into my possession four years ago. One year ago, his powers manifested themselves in an unusual way, and I had him taken in for testing. He was examined by the leading experts in ESP study and control, who assured me that they’d never come across an individual as powerful as him. His levels of Extra-Sensory Power are unparalleled, and he’s performed magic that experts believed to be impossible.”

 

By now, the guests are muttering to each other, and some are shaking their heads. A bearded man at one of the tables closest to the fireplace cleares his throat.

 

“Bayard?” Uther asks.

 

“Well,” Bayard says, “as far as I know, a Sorcerer’s magic doesn’t reach its full potential until puberty. How old is this boy?”

 

“Eleven,” Uther replies in a strange tone, as if he’s trying to suppress a smile. “He was tested when he was ten.”

 

“Who tested him?” one of the men at Bayard’s table asks.

 

“Dr. Aredian and his team. I have the reports if you’d like to look through them.”

 

Bayard eyes Merlin as one might look at a fascinating but dangerous animal. “If he’s that powerful, how do you keep him restrained?”

 

Uther doesn’t lose his not-quite-smiling tone. “Dr. Aredian designed a reinforced version of the standard controls. He and his team assured me that they’re a hundred percent secure.” He holds up a small, black device. “I’m in complete control of the boy.”

 

“Merlin,” a voice says, and everyone turns their heads. Arthur sits with his arms crossed, staring at Uther with a strange expression on his face. “His name is Merlin.”

 

A second or two of awkward silence follow. Then Uther cleares his throat. “Yes, that’s right.” He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “My son has become rather attached to the boy.”

 

Bayard makes an impatient gesture. “I’m not quite sure about this, Uther. If the boy’s that special, why has the discovery been kept secret?”

 

“Because I asked Aredian not to spread the news,” Uther says simply. “I didn’t want a media stir, and I don’t want any trouble in my household. But I’m sure the boy’s talent will find its uses in time.”

 

Uther smiles again, and this time it reaches his eyes, but the general impression is not one of kindness; rather that of a predator moving in for the kill. “Let’s not get caught up in the details just now. I’m glad so many of you could join us here tonight, and Merlin has prepared a very special performance for the occasion.”

 

He steps closer, and Merlin feels the touch of the controller at the back of his neck. He doesn’t understand how the device works, of course not. Sorcerers have no mind for technology. That is what the Naturals say, anyway, and it’s probably true. All Merlin knows is that it has something to do with microchips implanted at the base of his skull, and impulses that are blocked or interfered with. Uther, whose fingerprint is programmed into the controller, is the only person who can release his magic – for a minute, an hour, a day, just as he wishes.

 

The device feels cool against his skin, and Merlin holds his breath, waiting. For a second, nothing happens. Then there is a _jolt_ , and a rush like a sudden gust of wind. Some of the guests draw a sharp breath, as if they have felt it too. The magic is free.

* * *

To Be Continued...


	3. Chapter 3

Merlin closes his eyes, and for a moment does nothing but _feel_. Magic fills every fiber of his being, and it’s joyous, exuberant, bubbling behind his eyes and clamoring to be turned loose. Whenever his magic is released, it’s as if he’s been asleep, dreaming a strange and uneasy dream, only to awake to a clear and fresh morning and know that this, and only this, has been real all along.

 

He opens his eyes and holds out a hand. “ _Leoht_!”

 

The lights from the Christmas tree break away from their candles and soar towards him, dancing around and above the guests like a swarm of fireflies. Some grow and become intricate, filigree patterns, others darken to a deep red or a rich, brilliant green. They swirl and bob madly, and Merlin raises his other hand, as if lifting an invisible weight towards the ceiling.

 

“ _Glíwdréam_!”

 

From all corners of the room, music swells up and grows steadily louder. There are no instruments or singers, just a song that comes from the very earth itself and washes over the listeners like summer rain. Some of the guests stare, open-mouthed; others just sit there with their eyes closed.

 

Merlin calls the lights towards him, and they come willingly. Falling into line, they form a pattern – a delicate design of red and green flowers soaring in a wide circle, like water lilies floating on a pond. The music grows softer, and then louder again as Merlin points at the first lily. It explodes in a shower of sparks, raining down on the guests. Whenever the glittering fragments touch a person, they transform and assume different shapes – for a grayhaired lady next to Bayard, they become a diamond collar, which settles briefly around her neck and then dissolves into nothingness. For Bayard himself, they turn into the transparent panorama of tall palm trees and a white, sandy beach; for Elena at a table further back, they assume the shape of a pony which gallops in a circle around her, shaking its mane. All of the guests, even those who frowned when Merlin took the stage, laugh and gasp in surprise as their dearest Christmas wishes materialize around them. Merlin points at flower after flower, laughing happily as the sparks come raining down.

 

Vivian, it seems, wishes for nothing more than a visit to Disneyland with her older sister. Valiant grins as a huge game console appears in front of him, while Gwaine whoops and claps his hands at the drum kit that swirls into being. Gaius smiles quietly as a stack of books materializes on the tray he’s holding, and winks at Merlin, who grins back. Of course Gaius would want books.

 

Another flower close to Merlin explodes, and this time one of the sparks settles on Uther’s shoulder, transforming into the misty form of a framed picture. Merlin quickly waves a hand, and the picture disappears. He’d noticed during practice that Uther didn’t look too happy when he saw it.

 

Inmidst all the smiling, pointing guests, Arthur sits with a broad grin on his face, giving Merlin the thumbs-up. A camera, the kind he got all starry-eyed over when he saw the advertisement, floats in the air in front of him, wrapped up in a big, red bow.

 

“ _Leoht ætscéotan_!”

 

At Merlin’s words, the dancing shapes disappear like smoke, and the lights float back towards the Christmas tree. A few of the guests begin to applaud, but break off when suddenly the light changes dramatically. There are gasps, and someone (Vivian, most likely) squeaks in fright. The walls of the room have dropped away, and they’re sitting under a starry sky, in a frozen and quiet landscape covered in snow. Even so, it isn’t cold – Merlin knows better than to include that particular aspect in the illusion. Far away in the distant hills, there’s the silhouette of a castle with brightly lit windows, and it is very easy to imagine the noble knights and fair ladies inside celebrating the coming of Yule. Ice sculptures of dragons begin to rise out of the snow around them, larger than life and perfect down to the smallest scale.

 

Uther clears his throat, and Merlin blushes, realizing his mistake. He snaps his fingers, and the sculptures change into figures of reindeer, angels and smiling Father Christmases. The guests laugh and exclaim in surprise, and the line on Uther’s forehead smoothes out once more.

 

Merlin raises a hand towards the sky. “ _Lígræscetung_!”

 

The music swells again, and Merlin feels his fingers beginning to tremble. An illusion of this magnitude demands a lot of power, and Uther made himself very clear – whatever Merlin does, it must look as smooth and easy as if it required no strength at all. His magic rises along with the music, reaching towards the sky, and then a sheet of light begins to spread from the horizon, growing until the silent landscape is lit by a cool, unearthly glow. It’s the northern lights, or aurora borealis, as Gaius called it. Merlin hadn’t even known that such a thing existed. His magic doesn’t always rely on him and his knowledge of the world, but reaches deep down into regions that Merlin, the little Sorcerer slave, has never seen in his life. All he has to do is go with it, channeling his powers towards the sky where the light display unfolds. Bright green streaks take turns with a glowing red curtain, which then changes into a an eddy of angry blue and orange, sending lightning bolts down towards the hills.

 

The guests have fallen silent, staring in awe at the soundless fireworks in the sky. Merlin’s vision begins to blur, and he blinks rapidly, trying to clear his head. He never used this much power during practice; never allowed the magic to fill him completely and flow through every vein in his body. The illusion is perfect – the music rising and falling along with the lights, the frozen landscape reflecting the colors and shades of the sky. But Merlin’s body, which is eleven years old, skinny and not ready to be the vessel for such great amounts of magical energy, is beginning to flag. And he can’t slip up or slow down. Uther insisted on a grand finale.

 

The landscape becomes a blur of shades in front of his eyes, and this time he can’t blink the dizziness away. There is a moment of cold panic, and then, very suddenly, his magic simply _takes over_. It never happened this way before, not even at the clinic when they gave him shocks to test the levels of pain his powers could resist. Then, he screamed and cried and finally turned the taser into ash (a successful outcome, according to Aredian), but his magic never broke loose.

 

This time there is no pain at all, and yet he is no longer the one commanding the bolts of energy flashing across the night sky. Merlin feels as if he’s floating, and senses a presence beside him, a large and powerful entity that seems strangely familiar.

 

_Yes. We have known each other for a long time, young warlock._

 

The voice fills his head, speaking to him in a strange language that Merlin understands a naturally as he understands the language of spells.

 

_Who are you?_

 

 _A friend_.

 

_What’s happening?_

 

The voice smiles, faceless and still _there_ in a way Merlin can’t explain. _You are coming into your powers. Your magic is reaching out for the first time, the way it is meant to do. Uther means to harness it for his own gain, and by doing so will bring about his own downfall, as it was foretold._

_I don’t know what you mean._

 

_You have a destiny, young warlock. This is why your magic was given to you, and no one, not even the old Pendragon, can stand in its way, no matter what mechanical trappings he employs._

 

 _The controls are for my own good_ , Merlin thinks/says, the way one speaks in a dream. _Sorcerers can’t be trusted with their powers._

 

 _You repeat the lies you’ve been told all your life_ , the voice says calmly. _It does not matter. You and the young Pendragon will bring about a new age, as the prophecy predicts. This is only the first step._

 

_But-_

 

Light flashes in front of his eyes, and suddenly he is back in the wintery landscape, his whole body shaking as the magic bursts forward with unrivaled force. The sky _explodes_ , sending down a rain of lights that aren’t merely colors, but smells, sounds and pure magic all wrapped into a single sense impression. Whenever someone is touched by it, they look different for a second or two – happier, healthier, glowing from within. Some are left with something in their hands – a piece of crystal rock, a flower, a shining feather. Others just sit there with their eyes closed, some with tears running down their cheeks. Arthur is looking down at his cupped hands, and Merlin knows that he is holding a blue flame, one that warms but doesn’t scorch or burn.

 

The music slowly fades away along with the lights. The ice sculptures melt and turn into snow, the castle and the distant hills are gone as if swallowed by a sudden wave of fog. The walls of the room re-establish themselves as magic withdraws the illusion. The night sky disappears last, and with it the final glow of the aurora borealis. Uther’s drawing room, with its lavish decorations and elegant furniture, has reclaimed its place in reality.

 

Several seconds of silence follow, and Merlin feels his knees starting to give in. Then the clapping begins, and soon everyone is on their feet, cheering and applauding wildly. Even Bayard has gotten up, his bearded face flushed.

 

“Go Merlin!” Arthur shouts, and many people laugh, applauding the sentiment. Uther actually smiles at his son.

 

“Yes, yes, indeed,” he says, raising a hand, and slowly, the applause subsides. “I believe I am speaking for everyone here when I say that this surpassed all expectations. Well done, Merlin.”

 

Trembling all over, Merlin still manages to perform a small bow. “Th-thank you, sir.”

 

“Encore!” someone cries, to another round of clapping. “Encore!”

 

Uther, who seems to have noticed that Merlin doesn’t quite present the picture of health, smiles and shakes his head. “Enough for tonight. Let’s not add too much to a good thing. Gaius-” He waves him closer. “If you could make sure that the boy’s taken care off. I believe there’s a box of chocolates with his name on it in the kitchen?”

 

Gaius, who can read between the lines as well as anyone, hurries forward to take Merlin’s arm.

 

“Come on, lad.”

 

Leaning on Gaius, Merlin allows himself to be led away. The guests smile at him, and some even reach out to pet his hair as if he’s a young dog who has performed a particularly difficult trick. Only Arthur isn’t smiling, and through the blur in front of his eyes Merlin sees him getting up and following them to the door.

 

Finally, they’re in hallway, leaving the light and noise of the drawing room behind. Merlin’s legs instantly refuse to carry him another step, and he collapses into Gaius arms.

 

“Oh, my boy.” Carefully, Gaius lowers him onto the carpet. There’s a dim roar in Merlin’s ears, and he thinks that he’d very much like to just close his eyes and let go.

 

Arthur kneels down next to him. “Are you okay?”

 

Merlin drags up a grin for him. “Y-yeah. ‘Course.”

 

He tries to lift a hand, but it’s shaking so much that he abandons the attempt. “G-Gaius?”

 

“Merlin?”

 

Merlin smiles, and despite everything, he feels happy. “I – I did it, didn’t I? I rocked their socks off.”

 

And then, he senses the controls snapping back into place, as he knew they would. The edges of his vision begin to gray.

 

“Merlin,” he hears Arthur say, sounding inexplicably worried, but he can’t be bothered to open his eyes anymore, or fight the darkness that is closing in on him.

 

 _So this is what passing out feels like_ , he thinks, and then the world drops away, and Merlin no longer feels anything at all.


	4. Chapter 4

Merlin awakes to the sound of quiet voices, but doesn’t open his eyes right away. He knows that he’s in his bed, in the little room he shares with Gaius, and for a moment or two just savors the feeling of lying still and doing absolutely nothing. Usually, he’s out of bed the second he’s awake, full of energy to start the day (“It’s like a never-ending sugar high”, Gaius sometimes says with a resignated sigh). Not now, though. For once, Merlin’s body seems content to stay in one place without moving a single finger or toe.

 

“Can you die from using too much magic?”

 

Merlin recognizes the voice as Arthur’s. He sounds worried, not at all like his usual confident self.

 

“Not as such,” Gaius replies just as quietly. “A Sorcerer’s magical core can be depleted, however, making them prone to infections. Don’t worry, Arthur,” he adds, and Merlin notices that he doesn’t use Arthur’s proper title for once. “Merlin isn’t going to die. He just needs to rest. Spellwork like this is bound to drain his powers. He’s only a boy, after all.”

 

“Did Father know that this could happen?” Arthur asks, even more quietly than before.

 

Gaius hesitates for a long moment. “I believe it wasn’t his first consideration,” he says then.

 

“He talked about Merlin like he was a thing, a car or something,” Arthur says softly. “All that stuff about power levels and testing him.” He is silent for a while, then, “They really hurt him at that clinic, didn’t they?”

 

Gaius says nothing for so long that Merlin wonders if he’s going to answer at all. “Yes,” he responds eventually. “They hurt him quite badly.”

 

“I hate this,” Arthur bursts out. “It’s – it’s not fair.”

 

“It’s not,” Gaius says. “Life rarely is.”

 

“But it’s not right. Merlin’s not dangerous. He’s never even read any of the _Harry Potter_ books. He’s not – _subversive_.”

 

“He’s very powerful,” Gaius says. “That makes him a valuable asset to your father.”

 

“He shouldn’t be treated like this,” Arthur says, a familiar stubborn note creeping into his tone. “He’s still a person.”

 

This time, Gaius gives no reply, and Merlin knows what he is thinking. Legally, neither of them are persons, not like normal people. Gaius explained it to him once, how the law states that humans do not possess the genetic potential to use ESP, which makes everyone born with an ESP center nonhuman. And according to the law, nonhumans are property.

 

“It’s not fair,” Arthur says again.

 

_Only the first step_.

 

Merlin remembers everything the voice said to him, and maybe he’s beginning to understand some of it, just a little bit.

 

“Stop pretending to be asleep, Merlin,” Gaius says, and Merlin opens his eyes to find the old man smiling at him. “You know I can tell from the way your eyelids twitch.”

 

Merlin licks his lips. His mouth feels as if he’s been chewing sandpaper. “I’m thirsty.”

 

“Here.” Gaius helps him sit up against his propped pillows and hands him a glass of water. Merlin takes a sip.

 

“Tastes weird.”

 

“I put some vitamins in it,” Gaius says. “Come on, drink up.”

 

Merlin obeys, knowing that there’s no use arguing. “How long was I out?”

 

“Almost three hours.”

 

Arthur is huddled under a blanket in Gaius’ armchair, arms wrapped around his legs. “You sleep with a teddy bear,” he says, as if he caught Merlin trying on one of Morgana’s dresses.

 

Blushing, Merlin stuffs Aithusa under his pillow. “Shut up. And it’s not a teddy bear, it’s a _dragon_.”

 

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Right. You’re such a girl, Merlin.”

 

“My mum gave her to me,” Merlin mumbles, not looking at Arthur. Those first few nights in Camelot, Merlin sobbed into Aithusa’s patched stomach for hours, ignoring Gaius’ awkward attempts at comforting a seven-year-old who had just been sold away from his mother.

 

Arthur says nothing, and when Merlin finally glances up, his cheeks are a bit red. “So,” he says. “You’re some kind of super-powerful wizard or something.”

 

Merlin shrugs. “I guess so.”

 

“Like Voldemort.”

 

“Huh?”

 

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Come on, Merlin, you’ve really got to read _Harry Potter_. _Everyone_ ’s read it.”

 

“It’s not allowed, is it?”

 

“So?” Arthur shrugs. “Nicking food from the kitchen’s not allowed, and you do it all the time.”

 

“I’m not hearing any of this,” Gaius puts in, arching an eyebrow at the two of them. “And if you insist on drawing literary parallels, Arthur, I’d say that You-Know-Who is perhaps not the most fitting comparison.”

 

“See?” Arthur turns to Merlin, grinning triumphantly. “Even Gaius knows it.”

 

“Be that as it may,” Gaius says. “As for now, Merlin’s not to read any books, subversive or otherwise. He needs rest.”

 

“You were brilliant back there,” Arthur says, blushing slightly. “Everyone’s saying it.”

 

Merlin feels warmth rise into his own cheeks. “Oh. Thanks.”

 

“Yeah, well.” Unfolding his long legs from the chair, Arthur gets up. “I should get back. Father probably wants me to be there when the guests leave.”

 

“Arthur?” Merlin asks.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I’m glad you came by.”

 

Arthur shrugs, as if it’s nothing. “I’ll see you around, Emrys.”

 

Merlin watches Arthur as he walks out, his tie slung over his shoulder in an attempt at making it look cool. “Yeah,” he whispers. “See you soon.”

 

###

 

Uther sends for Merlin a day after Christmas. Merlin, who has never been in the Master’s study except to help Gaius dust the shelves, doesn’t quite know what to do with himself as he stands in front of the huge desk, waiting for Uther to finish typing. There are pictures on the walls of horses and vintage cars, and a huge framed portrait of a woman with dimpled cheeks. She looks rather like Arthur when he smiles.

 

Eventually, Uther closes his notebook with a snap. “Merlin,” he says, as if he only just noticed him standing there. “I want you to know that I was very pleased with your performance on Christmas Eve.”

 

Remembering his manners just in time, Merlin bows. “Thank you, sir.”

 

“Bayard informed me that he and his company are preparing sales negotiations,” Uther continues. “He seems to think that under the circumstances, a joint business venture would be the most profitable option for all involved.”

 

Merlin isn’t quite sure what to say to this, or why Uther is telling him these things. “Yes, sir.”

 

Uther gives him a long look. “You’re very young, and I know your kind has no head for money, but you should know that you were a crucial factor in his decision. Before Bayard decided to sell, he made me an offer – a very generous offer, I should say.”

 

Merlin understands. Bayard asked Uther to sell him.

 

“That was never an option, of course,” Uther says. “But I want to impress upon you how important it is that you know where your loyalties lie. You work for me, and only for me.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Merlin whispers. He doesn’t even know what Uther wants him to do. His company has something to do with computers and programming, and Merlin knows nothing about these things. His experience with computers is limited to playing racing games on Arthur’s Xbox, and Arthur says that he’s hopeless at that.

 

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” Uther asks.

 

“Yes, sir,” Merlin says, and then, because he can’t help it: “But I don’t know what I can do.”

 

Uther smiles thinly. “Let me worry about that, boy. You just do as you’re told.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

_The lies you’ve been told all your life_.

 

Merlin wonders if this, too, is one of the lies the voice was talking about – Uther’s implication that he has the right to use magic for his own ends, channel it to his profit. That he owns Merlin, and therefore owns his powers.

 

These are dangerous thoughts. But Merlin can’t help thinking them.

 

“I’m glad we understand each other,” Uther says. “Now, I think you’ve earned a reward for your little show, as promised. Is there anything you want in particular? A computer perhaps?”

 

Merlin takes a deep breath. “Could I... could I have a dog, sir?”

 

Uther grimaces slightly. “I suppose. It’ll be your responsibility, though. I don’t want Gaius running around after your mutt.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Merlin says, and feels as if his magic has been set free all over again... almost, anyway. “I mean, no, sir, he won’t have to. I’ll take care of it.”

 

“Make sure that you do,” Uther says, opening his notebook again. “You’re dismissed.”

 

Merlin bows again. “Thank you, sir.”

 

He can’t help smiling as he walks out of Uther’s study, and once outside, breaks into a huge, happy grin. A dog, a puppy of his very own. Well, and Arthur’s. Merlin promised him, and really, a puppy shouldn’t be that difficult to share.

 

###

 

_Four years later_

 

Arthur takes a final drag on his cigarette before crushing it out in the flower pot-cum-ashtray and sighing. “I needed that.”

 

Gilli, who is lounging in his usual old recliner, raises an eyebrow at him. “You know those will kill you, Pendragon.”

 

“Says the man who grows weed behind the garden shed,” Arthur counters, and Merlin chuckles lazily.

 

Gilli makes as if he’s going to throw his soda can at Arthur, then laughs and sets it back down. “You’ll come crawling to me begging for it soon enough, Muggle boy.”

 

Merlin tosses a pebble at him. “Be nice, Gil.”

 

Gilli puts on his sunglasses with a grand flick of his wrist. “I am not nice, Emrys.”

 

Mostly it’s just the three of them, hanging out somewhere out of sight in the park gardens of Camelot Mansion, but lately Morgana has started to join them. Merlin has noticed the way she looks at Gilli, and the way Gilli puts on a show when she’s around. It’s sweet, and a very dangerous game at the same time. If Uther got wind of it, he’d sell Gilli to the next trader without a moment’s thought.

 

Gilli peers over his sunglasses at the huge, sleeping form at Merlin’s feet. “I swear that dog gets bigger every time I see him.”

 

“Oi,” Arthur says. “We put him on a diet, okay?”

 

“I’m not saying he’s fat,” Gilli replies. “Just that he’s bloody gigantic.”

 

Merlin looks at Kilgharrah, and has to admit that Gilli has a point. The puppy he got when he was eleven was a fluffy bundle of happiness that fit into an average duffle bag (in which Merlin carried him home all the way from London). But as Gaius pointed out, Newfoundlands are biologically predestined to become giants, and Kilgharrah has certainly lived up to this prediction.

 

“Any more success with The Project, Emrys?” Gilli asks in a seemingly casual way, and Merlin knows that he’s been dying to know ever since they got here. But Gilli is Gilli, and doing things in a roundabout way is simply his style.

 

Merlin can feel Arthur watching him. The Project has been on their minds a lot, lately, ever since the first unexpectedly successful experiments.

 

“Kind of,” Merlin says.

 

Arthur snorts impatiently. “Oh come on, Merlin. It’s better than that.”

 

Gilli sits up in his recliner, and there’s no trace of a lazy grin on his face now. “Show me.”

 

Out of habit, Merlin throws a glance over his shoulder, even though he knows that their new hiding place is well out of sight. It has to be.

 

He holds out a hand, focusing his entire being on the space in front of him, and the element he wants to conjure. “ _Leoht_!”

 

For a second or two, nothing happens. Then he feel the jolt that is his magic pushing past the barrier of wires and circuits and flowing into his fingertips, burning in his eyes. A ball of blue light appears, not unlike the lights he conjured for his special magic Christmas performance all those years ago. It hovers quietly for a moment, then flashes brightly and winks out of existence.

 

“Wow,” Arthur says quietly. “That must’ve been four seconds, at least.”

 

Merlin grins. It’s easily the longest he has managed so far... but then, he’s getting better every day.

 

“Whew,” Gilli says. “Emrys...”

 

Merlin knows what he’s going to ask. “I can’t do anything about the controls yet – not my own, and certainly not anyone else’s. But...”

 

“But it’s definitely something we’re working at,” Arthur says with an easy smile, as if he isn’t betraying his father and an entire society with his words. “Another three or four months, and we might give it a try.”

 

“And then?” Gilli asks.

 

“Then we begin,” Arthur says simply, and bends down to scratch Kilgharrah between the ears.

 

Merlin feels his stomach clench at the words – with fear, and with something that is far more important.

 

_Some day_ , Gilli likes to say when they talk about these things.

 

Merlin has a feeling that ‘some day’ is going to be here pretty soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After getting over my surprise at seeing Dudley do magic ;), I came to like the character of Gilli (3x11, “The Sorcerer’s Shadow”) very much, not least because he was ready to make a stand for magic. I like to think that he played a not-so-minor part in the destiny Arthur and Merlin had to fulfill this time around.
> 
> This story describes a pivotal point in the development of Arthur’s and Merlin’s friendship in this reincarnation, but of course there is a lot of backstory left untold, which I might get back to if the plot bunnies hop my way.
> 
> Comments and concrit are very welcome!


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